Cappie was buzzing. He was high on adrenaline. The attack had happened so suddenly that he hadn’t had time to think about what to do; he’d just had to act. He was a little surprised by how easily he’d fallen back into a leadership role but, when he’d been evacuating people from Head housing, it had felt a little like being back at Kappa Tau. Admittedly, there had usually been less fire and screaming at the KT house (except that one time when Beav had tried to camp out in the lounge and set the tent on fire whilst making s’mores) but it still felt good to have people rely on him. He had begun to feel like his old self again.
The adrenaline had fuelled him through the night, through the smoke and the flames, through the trips back and forth to Family Housing. Even now, hours after it had all begun, he was still going. He was tired, sure, and he was covered in soot and grazes but he was in control. He had this.
Someone smart had had the presence of mind to locate a crate of bottled water and leave it in the street for people to help themselves. Cappie stopped, amongst the hum of evacuees, to grab one. He twisted off the top and took a few deep gulps as he peered around, making the most of the brief pause to take stock of the situation and work out where he was needed next.
The last place Becker wanted to be was watching people figuring out where they were now living, luckily someone had figured out lists pretty quickly and others had volunteered to help point people in the right direction. It looked as though Lissa Dragomir had pushed her team into some of that organizational side of it on the ground.
Becker was still in shock. He felt the deep burn of loss in his heart but his outward stance didn’t look different than someone might expect. Lack of expression, strong worry in his eyes and speaking only when he had to.
He turned taking a box off of someone and dropped them off near the area that’d been set up with water and now some food and other helpful little things. He saw Cappie but didn’t manage to say anything. He didn’t have it in him right that moment to comment on the strange energy coming off of him.
Cappie spotted Becker a little way away and stopped. He wasn’t sure why but a cold sensation had run down his spine when he’d caught sight of the other man. A frown formed on his brow before he forced it away again. Cappie didn’t dislike Becker, despite some of the names he’d called him over the years. He had been jealous of him, back when Octavia had chosen who she wanted to be with, but enough time had passed since then that he was over it. In fact, he felt a fair amount of admiration for the guy, especially since he’d been interning at the base and had seen, first hand, how much work Becker did behind the scenes for Atlantis. He wasn’t sure why, then, seeing him here, now, gave him the shivers.
Deciding he needed to stop being stupid, Cappie crossed to Becker, stooping to pick up another, unopened bottle of water on his way.
“Thirsty?” he asked, offering the bottle.
Becker looked over and only shook his head. He wasn’t and, frankly, the number of people shoving food, water and coffee at him was getting nauseating. He was mildly amused it was Cappie trying to push something on him and just let it go, he didn’t have the energy to handle it.
If he weren’t already tired and trying not to let the pain he was in take over he probably would have noticed that Cappie didn’t seem to know that there were deaths. It wasn’t just the loss of Octavia, it was Pike and Faith as well. There were people critical. Homes were gone.
Cappie lifted his eyebrows and pressed his lips together with a nod of acknowledgement as he took the hint. He twirled the full bottle in his hand like a baton then tucked it into his jeans back pocket - it would no doubt come in useful later.
“Okay, well, I’ll let you get on then,” Cappie said, intending to turn away and head back into the bustle of people coming and going. Still, something about Becker’s mask-like expression made him pause. He was too still, too quiet. Cappie knew that Becker wasn’t the most demonstrative person in Atlantis but there was something about the haunted look in his eyes that made Cappie feel a terrible sense of foreboding.
“What is it, man?” Cappie asked, uncertainly, a look of genuine concern creasing his face.
Becker was glad when Cappie said he’d leave him to it. Of course, he wasn’t exactly himself. There were deaths, people injured, COS had just attacked. He was mildly surprised when Cappie stopped and asked him another question.
Blinking he didn’t know how to answer that. “Look around.” he waved an arm. “Three deaths, multiple injured and a large number of houses gone.” What wasn’t wrong? He was almost surprised at Cappie’s lack of knowledge.
Instead of naming names he pointed to an area that was recently put up with a list of all those living in the housing area and their status for lack of another way to put it.
Cappie was on the verge of feeling annoyed and pointing out to Becker that he had been looking around, all night, as he’d worked tirelessly to get the people from the levelled Head housing to somewhere safe. Still, just then, he registered what else Becker had said and he felt his anger dry up, along with his mouth.
Three deaths.
He tried to swallow as he followed the line of Becker’s hand with his gaze, towards the list of names. It had already drawn a small crowd.
“Fuck,” Cappie muttered under his breath. “Who are they?” he asked, a little louder, trying to hide the shock in his voice. He knew it was silly to feel shocked - he’d seen the fighting going on during the evacuation and heard the terrible explosions as they’d reverberated throughout all four housing areas - but he realised he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine a scenario in which people died. With every person they’d managed to evacuate, he’d convinced himself more and more that they were all going to make it. The reality, therefore, now had him feeling stunned.
Becker felt a wave of anger fill him, it was probably more the grief he was feeling than anything else but he resented the fact that the kid wouldn’t go figure it out for himself, that he was forcing Becker to relive the worst moment he’d experienced. The anger that he couldn’t just give in to his emotions while watching the expression of someone with the freedom to do so irritated him.
“Faith Lehane, Christopher Pike and,” he swallowed. “Octavia Blake.” He managed to keep himself from showing the gut-wrenching pain he felt saying her name, but the pain in his voice was unmistakable, he couldn’t completely mask that.
“There are a lot more injured if you’ll excuse me.” The truth was he didn’t have it in him to handle dealing with anyone else’s emotions right that moment, not when he knew 20 plus others were injured enough they needed medical attention and there was still the issue of getting everyone situated and secure as possible before planning the next stage.
Cappie stared blankly, his brain refusing to understand what it was he was hearing. Octavia Blake what? Octavia Blake was trying to find out the name of the third person? Octavia Blake was helping recover the bodies? Octavia Blake had seen it all happen and reported back? Cappie was still waiting for Becker to finish the sentence when he started to excuse himself.
Realisation hit him like a brick and he felt his stomach drop. It had been like the world had been held in a moment of suspended reality but, suddenly, everything rushed in on him: the pain in Becker’s voice, the finality in what he’d said, the understanding of what it all meant. Octavia was gone. He felt numb. His face felt immobile, his tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. He swallowed and nodded slowly in reply. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? Even if he could have formed words, there was probably nothing he could say that Becker wanted to hear. Sympathy? What fucking good was that?
Cappie turned, his eyes unseeing, and began to wander away through the crowd. He didn’t have a plan, didn’t know where he was going. He swallowed again, then again; his mouth felt too wet. He had only taken a few more steps before he had to stop and double over, spewing a viscous mixture of water and bile into a nearby bush.
When the retching had stopped, he sank weakly to his knees and lowered his head to rest in his hands as the pain, the unimaginable pain, began to tear through his chest.